


Which Is the Very Breath

by flamingosarepink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Sweethearts, M/M, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: It isn’t as if Pierre hasn’t thought about how unworthy he feels of leading this life that he finds himself from in, an otherwise unknowing participant in a story he was thrown into.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Which Is the Very Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the aria Un di, felice, eterea from the opera La Traviata, by Giuseppe Verdi.

It isn’t as if Pierre hasn’t thought about how unworthy he feels of leading this life that he finds himself from in, an otherwise unknowing participant in a story he was thrown into.

_Charles could do so much better than you,_is a thought that crosses his mind often far too often for him to deny. But every word of what his mind tells him is true. 

Charles, who gets everything he wants by the batting of eyelashes or by sheer force of will. 

Charles, who could have anyone that he wants yet for some reason that isn’t quite understood chose Pierre instead. 

The sound of the rain is what wakes Pierre from his sleep, the sound of the drops against the window ever faint and gentle with the room cloaked in an iron grey hue that matches that of the harbor outside that is normally endless blue. As Pierre awakens and comes to his senses, he glances over at Charles asleep next to him. At the best of moments, Charles is known to be a light sleeper. Only now he seems to sleep easily.

Pierre is just glad his thoughts aren’t loud enough to wake him. 

As carefully as he can manage, Pierre swings his legs over the side of the bed and quietly proceeds to the hallway as he closes the bedroom door behind him with the softest of clicks. Letting out a breath that he finds he was holding, Pierre runs a hand through his hair as he walks into the living room before making his way to the kitchen just as it seems the rain has begun to fall harder. Two tea mugs are fetched from the cabinet closest to him as the kettle thrums life from its place on the glass stove top. 

“I was beginning to think you had left.” Charles’s voice breaks the silence as Pierre shyly smiles at the sight of him still groggy from sleep as he rubs at an eye after having appeared from the hallway into view. “ You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Pierre shakes his head as he closes the cabinet he retrieved the mugs from. “No,” he says simply. “I’m not.”

Something about the mannerism, other than the ability Charles has gained over the course of time of knowing when something is deeply troubling the other, makes him step forward to wrap his arms around Pierre’s waist from behind. Charles rests his head on his back, and Pierre’s inability to brush off affection makes him melt into the touch wordlessly. 

“Mon cher, your thoughts are too loud.” Charles mumbles, as if his own mind is in any better of a place. _How is it,_ he often wonders, _that Pierre has not left? Pierre who loves without asking for love in return, Pierre who gives and gives without taking. Pierre who has never asked anything of me._

There is a moment of silence before ever quietly, Pierre speaks. 

“Sometimes I don’t know your reasons for keeping me around. Someone like you could have anyone you wanted, you didn’t just have to choose me.” 

“Maybe,” Charles responds as he hooks his chin over Pierre’s shoulder. “But none of them would be you. You’re always there no matter what and you always do what is needed rather than wanted, for my own good.” He leaves it at that, prying himself from Pierre as the other lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ll pour the tea and then we’ll head back to bed. It’s too stormy outside to do anything useful today and we have nothing to do anyway.” 

Pierre leans against the counter as he watches Charles move around the kitchen, turning off the stove top before pouring the tea into the respective mugs. Not that he hasn’t elicited this unseen reaction before on certain occasions, but something in Pierre’s heart swells at the sight. He thinks of every time they laid on the rug underneath the giant window in Charles’s childhood bedroom as kids talking about future dreams and wishes for the beyond. Of every time that Charles was there to comfort him when needed and every time that Pierre was there to comfort Charles when needed. What they have together isn’t just something that can be given up easily, or forgotten about. It brings back thoughts to what his mother used to tell him when he was a teenager, as if some how she was aware of what future would befall the two of them. _When there is someone who knows you better than the city they were born in and never ceases to see to your happiness you have to cherish them, Pierre. That kind of thing is a rarity in life._

With the mugs in hand, Charles sets off back to the comfort of their bedroom. Pierre follows without so much as a word, feeling a certain kind of exhaustion begin to set in again the closer they get. 

The familiar warmth of the bed greets him like a most cherished friend once he climbs back under the covers. Tea that is now just cool enough to drink soothes something in him that at one moment in the not so distant past seemed unable to be soothed by anything except for the loss of the ability to think. At some point that he isn’t entirely aware of, Pierre sets his own mug on the night stand. Charles, sensing the exhaustion set upon Pierre sets his own mug on the nightstand next to him before opening his arms. Pierre finds himself powerless to resist, soon settling into the comfort that only they can give. Charles’s fingers are soon in his hair, stroking featherlightly. The feeling comforts Pierre more than mere words ever could. There is only peace and quiet, the only noise in the room is the sound of the falling rain outside. 

Pierre falls asleep with his head on Charles’s chest, just as the last tendrils of steam rise from their mugs on the nightstand. 

For once, he seems to sleep easily.

**Author's Note:**

> The playlist I used to write this fic was exclusively comprised of music from French composers:
> 
> \- Violin Sonata I in D minor // Elizabeth Jacquet De La Guerre  
\- Gymnopedie no.1 // Eric Satie  
\- Clair De Lune // Claude Debussy  
\- Suite In G for Lute // François Dufault  
\- Prelude from Varii scherzi di sonate // Francesco Corbetta
> 
> _ and ever since that day,  
even without knowing it, I loved you  
with that love which is the very breath  
of the universe itself  
mysterious and noble,  
both cross and ecstasy of the heart._


End file.
